Independence Day

I.

Some of the children stop crying
to reach out for falling sparks.
Fathers explain why it is that you see
the booms and whistles before you hear them,
and I can hear the light itself if I close my eyes,
ohhs and ahhs filling those darkened worlks
from the other side with fireworks.

Most of us stand to watch the sky,
thinking ourselves closer. Our heads all find
the same angle, as if we are grown to the hill,
living for one night on spark light an music.
The band leader sways and sweats and wonders
why his job has become so difficult;
if I stop for a moment I can hear
everyone else humming along with the Sousa too.
"Hey!" I shout, "Your band has as many instruments
as there are people on this hill!"
Trying to make him feel better. But he does ot
hear me. It is the finale; children are reaching
for pieces of sky.

II.

Afterwards it feels strange to be separate, uprooted,
trapped in metal and an endless line while
red and white smear from tail to head lights
like a time-lapse photo someone took of the sky.
The stillness feels wrong. Dad wrenches
the steering wheel around and we are only ourselves again.
Lost. The roads twist away from us, embarrassed by their
lack of signs. Tracy and Mom are angry, want to go back
the way we came with the other cars, like following
footprints back to the house in a blizzard.

But this blindness is black, not white, and warm on the
Fourth of July -- Dad isn't turning around.
"Get out and find north, will you Shelley?"
I spin free from the car and look up, whistling
at the stars, half-expecting it to come out sparks.
Me, I don't mind being lost.
John Philip Sousa and I don't mind a bit.

(For poetry of a different sort,
check out the Declaration of Independence
and remember our forbearers, to whom we remain indebted.)

I Had Me A Great Birthday

Last year (or was it the year before? I am so chronologically challenged), a friend who understands my love of books gave me a Border's gift certificate for my birthday. Before I'd even taken the card out of its little gift jacket I'd made a vow: I would only spend this money on books for ME. Big deal, right? It was, after all, my birthday gift. But as I hopped on the internet to begin the search, I kept coming up with great ideas for my partner. Or my son. And it went on like that for quite some time.

Almost every mother I know talks about this aspect of parenting. Someone – and I wish I could remember who, so I could give you the footnote you so richly deserve – referred to the first years of parenting as, "hanging out in the baby submarine." You're down there in the murky depths with no sense of the wider world. Every now and then you put up a periscope to confirm your bearings, maybe, but then it's right back into the briny deep. Sleep-deprivation, milk-stained clothes, books in rhyme, and only the barest memory of who you would be if left to your own devices.

But I have to give myself a little credit... almost five years into our parenting gig, I did a great job of getting out of the submarine and treating myself this year!

First, a leisurely meander through the stacks at Firestone Library. Resulting in the haul pictured above (and then some, actually).

Then tickets for the whole family to see the incredible Tovah Feldshuh in Hello, Dolly! at the Papermill.

Did she rock? Don't even GET me started.

Then there were the treats I didn't know to ask for but got anyway. My dear friend Stacy wrote this very sweet note about me and shared it with the world.

And my partner and son spent the days leading up to my big day whispering to each other and yelling things like, "You can't come in here!" and "Don't look!!" which I think was pretty much the biggest treat of all.

So here's to treats, especially for those who sometimes find it hard to think of themselves.

(Thanks to Mama Says Om for the yeast.
Check out the other mama submissions over there,
but be careful, it could be habit-forming!)

The Merman Attempts To Cross the River

There is no blending in.
Even after years aground.
The merman knows this,
believes he has made his
peace, and yet.

Lying in his tub at night
he sets tasks for himself.
Go a day without shrimp.
Stay away from the water cooler.
Try a walk across a bridge.

So he finds himself
high above the river
watching the humans,
marveling at their ease.
How do they do it?

Do they not hear
the jostle and shush
of the water?
we’re going to the sea
to the sea to the sea!

Michi's Poem Title Generator

Pictured above is Michi's magical Poem Title Generator. You plug in some words (via her questionnaire), and out pops a poem title. All you have to do thereafter is write the poem.

Can't resist. Here are my answers:

I) Tuesday
II) Cairo
III) SheWho's The Earth Will Turn Over, Paul Simon's Surprise, and the Barbra Streisand recording of Hello, Dolly!
IV) e (there's a reason I don't wear open-toe shoes)
V) a - Merman
b - the hills are alive
c - tintinitis
VI) d (Ryme Intrinseca)
VII) a (To Help the Monkey Cross the River)

Whatcha got, Michi?

Update: According to Michi's magical machine, the title of my poem is "The Merman Attempts To Cross the River." Hmmmm...

(Image courtesy of the talented Wednesday Law.)

The Forgiveness Muscle

I first started thinking about my emotional landscape in muscular terms when I returned to regularly attending Quaker Meeting for Worship one fall after having taken the summer “off.”

I came to Quakerism as a spiritual refugee after being made to feel unwelcome in my family’s original faith community (long story).

And even though there are now few places where I feel more at home than in a Meetinghouse (that's my current one above), it took some getting used to. The kind of worship that Meetings here in the mid-Atlantic region practice is called “unprogrammed.” This means, among other things, that we arrive at Meeting and sit in expectant silence. And that sometimes, the silence lasts for a full hour.

When I first started attending Meeting, the hour felt like an eternity. I had a terrible case of what practitioners of meditation aptly call “Monkey Mind.” I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing, or, worse, like I must be doing something wrong.

But slowly, slowly, week by week, year by year, I started to become more comfortable. My mind and spirit quieted down. I started to feel less like an imposter. So I was a bit taken aback when I returned to Meeting in the fall that year and felt like I was right back where I’d started. I recognized the feeling.

“I’m out of shape!” I thought, and that’s when the idea of spiritual flabbiness came alive for me.

When our son D was born, I immediately started bringing him to Meeting for Worship. Those Meetings spent with a tiny baby sleeping and snuffling in my arms may not have been among my most centered, but there was a different quality to the peace in the room.

When he was two, I talked with D about what people did in Meeting for Worship and brought him in, letting him stay for as long as he could be (relatively) quiet. (Some days, this was about two minutes, but we kept trying.) When he was three we started working on being quiet AND still (pretty much impossible, but a worthy goal)!

Now, as an almost five year-old, D has a developing sense of himself as a child of God, and he knows that he’s unusually good at being quiet and still when he puts his mind to it. “I have good quiet muscles,” he’ll say, and he’s right... he's up to about 20 minutes at a time now, I think.

Once we were both thinking about the practice of “settling in” to Meeting as something one needed to be in shape for, it was a short step to thinking about forgiveness in similar terms.

When I was growing up, forgiveness was in short supply. People in my family were often angry with each other – with good cause – and many of the apologies were negated by a trailing “but”… “I’m sorry, but you just…”

I wanted to try to change that in this next generation. So we’ve been talking with D for most of his little life about forgiveness… what it means, what it sounds like, what it feels like. That it’s as much about healing the heart of the person offering it as it is about helping the heart of the person accepting it. That both the offering and the accepting can sometimes be really hard. A few weeks ago, in the middle of impromptu livingroom wrestling match number 357, D miscalculated and accidentally launched himself full force at my head. (He weighs 41 pounds now!) His nose started bleeding, and my head felt like a gong. As soon as we got the cold compress on and the crying stopped, he looked up at me and said, “Mommy, let’s forgive each other quickly.”

Sounds like he’s well on his way to strong forgiveness muscles.

Which he'll probably need, once he figures out how many nudie bathtub pics I have of him. And that I've shared this one with the universe. :-)

(Thanks to the women of Mama Says Om for the springboard!)

Breaking the News

I had been dreading the moment since JT's Mommy told Sassafras Mama that she wouldn't be coming home. The boys have been friends since they were four and two... Aunt Lisa has been a part of D's life for pretty much as long as he can remember.

I felt the way I did when my Uncle George died: sad that I had to introduce my son to one of life's harsher realities.

I had really hoped to keep divorce off his radar for another few years. But now that he's bound to find out relatively soon, I wanted to be the one to break the news.

Finally tonight we had the chance I'd been waiting for... both parents home, no pressing commitments, good spirits all around. I told D that we had some news to share with him that was kind of sad, and that we wanted to tell him when we were both there in case he needed us. He immediately settled down and looked at us expectantly. When we told him the news, his first reaction was relief. "Well, it could have been SUPER DUPER bad news, like that JT was moving." (He's already experienced JT moving further away, and knows he doesn't like that one bit.) We told him that we might need to be especially kind, that JT and Stacy's hearts are really hurting about it, and he said, "and herself... Aunt Lisa, too," and we said yes, of course. Then we told him that we weren't going anywhere, and he looked at us as if to say, Well, of course.

After a few moments he said, "I didn't think that could ever happen."

We said we hadn't thought so either. And then, like a summer storm, the moment passed.

The rest of the night was regular Friday fare. We ate some apple pie and played a round of Chutes and Ladders. We are so lucky that for our little boy, this is just a true life story about someone else's life. The real lightning strike was up in Dunellen.

Happy (Almost) Birthday To Me

Earlier this year, I helped out with the fabulous "Princeton Idol" event at the Princeton Public Library, and was awash in gratitude for the spirit and energy of everyone involved.

Growing up, one of my all-time favorite movie moments happened when Superman scooped up Lois Lane midfall, only to have her ask, "You've got me? Who's got you?" I've always loved Superman. The cape? Impossibly strong yet frighteningly vulnerable? Always getting the girl? What's not to love?

So it seemed a kind of cosmic convergence when I found out that the library's upcoming fundraiser is taking the form of an exclusive sneak-preview showing of the new Superman movie. Next Tuesday, June 27th, 5pm, at the Garden Theater on the main drag in Princeton.

Tickets are $30, include complimentary snacks and a poster, and benefit the library. I am so totally going. And it's the day before my celebrated birthday, so I'll walk to the show in order to facilitate my partner and son doing some last minute birthday elfing. :-)

Want to join me? Quick, snag the form here. They still have seats. And let me know, so I can save you one near me!

Is It Too Late to Play?

Sarah of The Rain in My Purse made an intriguing offer back in May... is there an expiration date? If you answer these seven questions, she will use your answers to recommend a book of poetry for you to read. Here are the questions:

1. You’re expecting a baby girl. Which of these names would you choose for her?
a. Lilian b. Abagail c. Siena d. Cody e. Deborah f. Maria

2. Beatles or Stones?

3. Which of the following would be your choice of pet?
a. Beagle b. Siamese cat c. Mynah bird d. Seahorse

4. If you could change careers, what would you like to be?

5. Which of these mostly closely matches your present mood?
a. distant b. volatile c. content d. exuberant
e. preoccupied f. melancholy g. dissatisfied

6. Which city would you like to spend a year in?
a. Amsterdam b. La Paz c. Athens d. Chengdu e. Paris f. Honolulu

7. Name three of your favorite words.

And here are my answers:

1. Lillian, but with two "l's," after Lillian Hellman

2. Beatles (brainwashed in my youth)

3. beagle (had one as a child)

4. ummm... part-time reference librarian, full-time poet?

5. content

6. Amsterdam

7. ausgezeichnet, fathom, grin

Hope you're still playing, Sarah!

TOO much fun?

No such thing as too much fun! Here we are on Friday enjoying the outdoor movie series sponsored by the divine Thomas Sweet:


Saturday was the second annual Quaker picnic at Walnford, complete with stump jumping:



And on Sunday we made some new friends, re-connected with some old ones, and braved the heat in our kayaks:


(That's D discovering that he's strong enough to stop a kayak in its tracks, so to speak.)

Pretty tough to pack more fun than that into a weekend! Whew.